


into the ripe air

by unpossible



Series: Building Something [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Family, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:39:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1571261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unpossible/pseuds/unpossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles,” Ted says as he rounds the front of the car. His eyes flick to Derek, and then to James, and there’s an indefinable change in his face that has Stiles’ shoulders tightening and he takes a long, slow breath, the better to take careful hold of his temper, because there are consequences for everything he says and does now, and he’s not a sixteen year old smartass anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are in the final fic for this series. 
> 
> There are several years between the previous fic and this one, and I should add that while I have done some research on the FBI, and on the various agencies depicted in the fic, I am by no means claiming to be particularly accurate.

 

 

Stiles is in his Dad’s kitchen, lost in long-distant high school memories when he hears a car moving very slowly along the street outside. He’s planning on ignoring it, because he hates it when the béchamel gets that weird skin on top, but then Cassie pops her head around the corner and says, “Derek says you’re needed on the porch.”

Stiles glances over, “’kay, thanks hon.”

She nods and waddles back into the study where she and Bonnie are re-reading Bear in the Square for the thousandth time, though he’s sure Cas’ll keep a wolfy ear out for what happens next, just like Derek is keeping a wolfy ear out for the very first second Cassie goes into labour. It’s why they’ve all invaded Dad’s house, after all, because Derek wouldn’t stop freaking out that the half-hour drive in from the Hale house was too long.

Stiles throws a cloth over the half-assembled lasagne and starts for the door, curious. Ellie and Kerrie aren’t due to show up until dinnertime, when Kerrie is going to calmly passenger while Ellie drives on the highway without either of her Dads for the first time.

When he pushes through the screen door, though, Derek is still placidly rocking the porch swing, James napping with his head on Derek’s thigh. Their eyes meet and Derek tips his head toward the SUV that is rolling to a stop in front of the house.

“Pretty sure this is for you,” Derek says. Stiles frowns, because the rest of the pack are still visiting Scott and Allison in Pasadena, and he definitely doesn’t recognize the car. Chris Argent will apparently give up his addiction to black SUVs when he is cold in the ground-

 _“Ted?”_ Stiles says stupidly as the driver slides out of the SUV. It _can’t_ be. Ted doesn’t belong to Beacon Hills. Ted is Sacramento and shitty coffee and jurisdictional bullshit and people sneering at Stiles because he won’t wear a suit and lets his witnesses play Candy Crush on his iPad.

But there is Ted Hinton, slamming the door of the white SUV and taking a nice long look at the Stilinski home. In about a half-second Stiles has guessed the reason for his visit, and any surprise is immediately swamped by the righteous fury of the wronged.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Stiles manages under his breath. “Special Agent Hinton.”

He exchanges a glance with Derek, one that with the experience that comes with long years, takes only a quarter of a second to convey:

_Can you believe this bullshit?_

_Federal Agents do tend to think they’re always right._

_Yeah but this is way over the line-_

_-just remember James is within hearing distance._

It’s all shared in a silent look, and Derek never once stops the porch swing’s steady motion. His hand slides down to the pocket where he keeps his phone, and Stiles gives him a nod, glad they’re in synch. Whatever is about to happen, there’s going to be a record of it, just in case.

Stiles moves closer to the steps, but keeps the advantage of higher ground, and then he folds his arms over his chest. “Ted,” he greets the other man. “What are you doing here?” _And how the fuck did you find me?_

Yeah, that’s another good question, because Stiles is actually proud of the fact that he could give paranoia lessons to the KGB.

Becoming associated with a sprawling government agency had been a risk all its own, considering the secrets they’re hiding, so Stiles habitually takes serious precautions. He never gives their home address to anyone, has a work phone that is completely separate from his personal phone, lives by his PO Box and email, but then, he suddenly remembers, his FBI background check had been pretty insistent on a street address, and he’d weighed things up and finally given them Dad’s.

Wow. Ted must have had to call in favours for this. FBI files weren’t, generally, made available to _anyone –_ even Special Agents _–_ without pretty good reason.

“Stiles,” Ted says as he rounds the front of the car. His eyes flick to Derek, and then to James, and there’s an indefinable change in his face that has Stiles’ shoulders tightening and he takes a long, slow breath, the better to take careful hold of his temper, because there are consequences for everything he says and does now, and he’s not a sixteen year old smartass anymore.

So Stiles says nothing, just stares down at Ted, stony-faced, and the other man comes to a stop at the foot of the stairs. There’s silence for a moment, and then Ted says, all casual, “Can I come in?”

“No,” Stiles says simply. He lets that sit for a minute. “What are you doing here, Ted.”

He knows somewhere inside Ted is feeling uncomfortable at all the social rules he is breaking and/or ignoring. But he also knows FBI training lets you push past that, keeping the end goal in mind.

“It’s really a work issue,” Ted replies, “so it’s best if we don’t discuss it out here.”

“If it’s a work issue then you can speak to me about it _at work_ , or you can call my work phone,” Stiles says coldly. “You don’t ferret through my file to find my home address and then show up here uninvited, and unwanted.”

Ted’s eyes flick toward Derek for a second, to James who is stirring to wakefulness, and then he says, “Expressions of interest for the task force close in five days.”

 _You are shitting me._ Stiles raises a hand and presses his fingers to his eyes. “And as I have repeatedly told you, Ramirez _and the Deputy Director_ , Ted, I am _not interested_ in joining the fu-freaking _task force_.”

“It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, Stiles,” Ted begins, taking a step forward. That apparently crosses an invisible line in Stiles’ head, because rage just explodes through him and he, too, takes a step forward, so his shoes jut over the edge of the porch.

“Then it can be the opportunity of _someone else’s lifetime_ , Ted, someone who actually _wants_ to commit full time to that kind of work, the way I emphatically _do not_.” He’s aware of movement behind him, Derek quietly sending James inside because he can tell shit’s about to hit the fan and neither of the twins should hear this.

“You can’t tell me you don’t love the work, Stiles,” Ted argues, “I see how you are when you’re there, and you _love_ it. You could do so much good, _we_ could do so much-”

“Ted,” Stiles breaks in, “you’re not hearing me. I like the work, but I don’t want to commit to it full time. I have had this conversation more times than I can count and if you think that _this_ kind of bullshit makes me more inclined to join you, you are fucking _delusional_.”

Ted shakes his head, “You’re not thinking this through. There’s no reason why you can’t make this work, and if something is holding you back, if some _one_ is holding you back,” he adds with a hard glance at Derek, “then maybe you should re-examine your pr-”

“Don’t look at him,” Stiles snaps, “don’t fucking _talk_ to him, he is none of your goddam business, you asshole. You honestly think you can come here, to my _home_ , talk bullshit about my husband and my family – both of which you know absolutely _nothing_ about – and somehow endear me to you in a way that will make me want to further our fucking working relationship? What the actual _fuck_ , Ted? Are you _high?”_

“I haven’t mentioned your husband,” Ted defends, “you’re the one who jumped to that conclusion, Stiles, which is interesting-”

Stiles laughs, he can’t help it. “Oh, man, you’re actually going to try and pull that on me? You _do_ remember that I’m the one you guys call for specialised interrogations, right? I can read the visual cues just fine, Ted, with all your meaningful glances at Derek and all the little remarks you make about my home life when I’m at work. Or if I’m wrong well, then, you’ll tell me what you mean by _something that’s holding me back_.”

Ted pauses, a flicker of uncertainty on his face.

“Right?” Stiles presses. “Please enlighten me,” he says, and spreads his hands in welcome. “What’s ‘holding me back’, Ted, from the wonderful opportunity that _you’re_ so excited about.”

“You’re exceptional at what you do, Stiles.”

“Gee, Ted, thanks. I guess that makes it totally okay for you to force your way into my private life, right?”

“I’m not forcing-”

“How did you get this address, Ted?” Stiles interrupts.

He watches Ted’s head tip back just a little, what would have been a backward step from anyone without his training. Stiles just waits, watches.

“It’s in your records-”

“Bullshit,” Stiles says, and man he is going to owe a lot to the swear jar after this. Derek, the asshole, is totally counting over there. “This address is in the sealed section of my records, because I made goddam sure it was, because I value my privacy pretty fucking highly. And apparently I had good reason to be worried, Special Agent Hinton _._ ”

“I just wanted to talk to you-”

“Yeah we’ve been over this-”

“And maybe I wanted to see what’s got such a hold on you,” Ted barrels on, and this time he doesn’t try to hide the stink-eye he gives Derek, who has finally stopped pushing the porch swing and is letting it settle into stillness. “Do you even give a shit about his career?” He turns, addressing Derek directly. “He’s capable of almost anything, and you’ve got him tied here playing happy families-”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ talk about my kids-”

“I think I probably know Stiles a little better than you,” Derek says calmly over the top of Stiles. “So I’m pretty well aware of what he’s capable of.”

“So you just don’t give a shit-”

“I give a shit about what _he_ wants,” Derek says evenly, “which apparently, is more than you do.”

“What he wants. _Right_ ,” Ted snorts. “How old was he when you got your hooks in him - was he even _legal?”_

Stiles fucking _knew_ he’d made a mistake at absently referring to how long he’d been in a relationship.

Derek doesn’t rise to that bait, thank Christ. Instead he says, “I think, Ted, that you should maybe take a step back and ask yourself why you’re so invested in the private life of someone you barely know. Because I’m not sure _you_ know what you’re doing here.”

Ted reels back from that, actually takes a step back, and Stiles blinks first at him, and then at Derek, because- _what_.

Derek looks pretty placid, but yeah, he’s giving Stiles that _you’re so oblivious_ look he gets sometimes, because Stiles has apparently allowed his mental image of himself to stick at the flailing, over-loud teenager he once was. Cassie and Kerrie find it hilarious that Stiles never notices when someone is into him, Derek on the other hand, gets exasperated when Stiles doesn’t think of himself as _da bomb_.

“What.” Stiles says. He sees Derek’s lips twitch just slightly that he’s picked up Derek’s non-inflection habit.

“I didn’t,” Ted says jerkily, “I’m not.”

Derek shrugs.

Stiles gathers his thoughts. “Well, whatever the hell your reason was, Ted, you’re not welcome here, not today, not ever. And if a single one of you assholes had bothered to ask me _why_ I didn’t want to commit to the task force full time I would have happily told you that I have a fucking book deal, and an offer to lecture at Stanford over the summer, which is keeping me far too busy for your goddam _task force_.”

Ted blinks at him.

“So now you’re going to get in your car and drive back to the office,” Stiles says, calm and hard and fierce. “And when you get there I want you to take out an incident report and detail everything you had to do to get here today – the conversations we had at work where I clearly gave my answer, the repeated efforts you made to change my mind, including going to the Deputy fucking Director, and then finally, how you breached federal regulations to get my address, and came here today uninvited and unwanted.”

“I-”

“You fill out that report, and substitute any other witness description you like – 22 year old female, single, or 38 year old teacher, married – because maybe that’ll help you see things clearer. You fill out that report and then take a long fucking look at it with a professional eye. Because I think you’ll see a pretty clear goddam pattern of harassment, escalating to stalking.”

The shock on Ted’s face is clear. “No,” he manages, “Stiles, that’s not what-”

“I get that’s not what you meant, Ted, but it _is_ what you’ve done. And now you need to go.”

Ted swallows, glances once more at Derek who hasn’t even stood up from the porch swing, and takes a step back. He reaches the SUV and stops again, glances up at Stiles. “I’ve fucked it all up,” he says, “haven’t I?”

“Pretty much,” Stiles says, heart heavy. He likes doing what he does, likes knowing that when there’s a heavy case with child witnesses the Feds can call him and the kid might have an easier time of it. But there’s no way he’s letting this bullshit slide. At the very least he’s making a formal complaint, and whoever gave up his personal information is gonna be goddam sorry they did.

“I’ll – I’ll resign from-”

“Don’t be stupid,” Stiles says. “Just. Keep your distance.”

“You’ll request another liaison,” Ted says, and Stiles nods.

“Yes.”

He bites his lip. “I-”

“Ted, just go,” Stiles says, but more gently this time. “The best thing you can do for me now is leave, and spend some serious time thinking about why you thought this was okay. Because, Ted? It was not okay. Not any of this. No means no, dude, even in the workplace.”

Ted nods once, like it hurts, and climbs into the SUV. He drives away, and Stiles waits until he’s around the corner before he drags out his phone and calls his Dad.

“Yup.”

“Hey, Dad. Can you ask whoever is out on patrol to keep an eye out for a white SUV,” he glances over at Derek as he supplies the plate number.

“We got trouble?” Dad asks, always alert.

“Not like that. Just a nosy coworker. I just wanna know he’s leaving town like I told him to, and not poking around because it amuses him.”

“Sure thing, kid,” Dad says, and Stiles knows he’s going to be explaining that over dinner later.

“Don’t be late for dinner,” Stiles says, “I’m knee deep in lasagne.”

“Would I miss that?”

Stiles half-smiles and locks eyes with Derek. “That depends. Have you assigned someone to sit on the highway between here and home to monitor Ellie’s driving, or are you doing it yourself, Pops?”

Dad makes some half-hearted attempt at spluttering a denial, but he and Derek are both laughing when Stiles hangs up.

He stumbles over to the porch swing and sinks down next to Derek. “What the actual _fuck_ ,” he says on an exhausted sigh.

“Swear jar.” Derek wraps an arm around his shoulders and Stiles melts into the heat of the other man’s body.

“Go on,” he sighs, “with the I told you so.”

“I don’t need to say it when you already know.”

“ _Ugh,”_ Stiles says.

“I am, however, coming down to Stanford for your lecture series,” Derek says firmly. “And any book tour.”

Stiles snorts, “Yeah, books on child victims of violent crime just draw in all the hotties.”

“ _You_ draw in all the hotties,” Derek says, reclining a little so more of their bodies are touching. “And I am more than happy to brood in the background while they gawk at you.”

“You could dig out your old leather jacket,” Stiles says. He lets that image settle in his head. “ _Actually_...”

Derek is snickering when he suddenly tenses, jerks upright and says, “Cassie!”

From inside the house he can hear the twins thundering towards the front door.

“Daddy, Dadda, the baby’s coming, the _baby’s_ _comin’_ -”

“There’s a big mess all over the-”

“Holy crap,” Stiles says, and shoves himself off Derek so hard he trips and falls face-first onto the boards. Yeah, that’s a _less_ fun reminder of his teenage years than the leather jacket image.

“Baby alert,” Cassie says in a strained voice from just inside the house.

“I’m ready,” Derek says, keys in his hands, voice wobbly. “I’m totally – everything is going to be fine, Cass, the bag is in the car, and uh. We have a full tank of gas-”

“For the three minute drive to Beacon Hills Memorial,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes and yanking the screen door open. “Come on, big guy, you _cannot_ be worse at this than the first time, I swear that’s not even _possible._ ”

Cassie laughs, then winces, and Stiles scoops up Bonnie in one arm and rests a hand on James’ head. Small arms twine around his left knee.

“They _changed the signs_ ,” Derek snaps, in the voice of one who has said this many times already. The alpha is compulsively patting his jeans pockets, Stiles’ isn’t sure what he’s checking for, exactly. A how-to manual?

“Did you know that?” Stiles asks the twins, holding the screen door open for Cass. “Dadda, who _grew up_ in Beacon Hills and has lived here for over twenty years, give or take, actually got lost driving to the hospital when you guys were being born.”

“And the du-pu-tee gived him a ticket,” James repeats, because yeah, they tell this story a lot. It’s Ellie’s _favourite_.

“But then Pops came with all the lights on,” Bonnie says, “and that’s how we got borned at the hospital and not in da car!”

 _“Exactly,”_ Stiles says, and cuddles her. Her eyes are dancing, a perfect replica of his Mom’s. “That is _exactly_ how it happened.”

“And _your_ Dad-” Derek begins dangerously.

“O- _kay!_ Pregnant lady needs to get to the car,” Stiles interrupts hurriedly, because they do not need to rehash the whole cried-in-public story, that’s just gratuitous.

“You guys are crazy,” Cassie sighs, and she is – she’s already at the car, how did she – when did she _do_ that _?_ “I have no idea why I agreed to mingle my DNA with either one of you.” Derek abuses his werewolf speed to get to the car in time to open her door, and she rolls her eyes at him but sinks heavily into the seat.

“Access to my lasagne?” Stiles offers, because he has no idea why, either. Cass is way too good for them, too good _to_ them, and he squeezes Bonnie closer and presses a fond hand to James’ cheek just thinking about it, how damn lucky they are.

“On the bright side,” he says, and starts for the Jeep because this is a two-car situation, for sure, “by tomorrow you can start planning how you’re going to ask that hot guy from the autoshop on a date.”

“Yeah,” she snorts, “because dating is the very first thing on a woman’s mind after labor. And there’s also the tiny detail where instead of being terrifying because I’m heavily pregnant, he’ll be getting an earful about the three kids I’ve had for Beacon Hills’ most prominent gay couple.”

“Danny won’t like hearing that,” Derek murmurs in Stiles’ ear, deftly lifting James into his carseat and doing up the buckles with unfair, cheat-y werewolf speed.

Stiles snorts. “Not our fault his boyfriend is a _chemistry teacher_.”

“Don’t forget to call your Dad,” Derek says, and drops a kiss on Stiles’ lips. “I’ll see you there.”

“And you call Ellie,” Stiles tosses back, because, _duh_.

“You might also need a set of car keys,” Derek snarks at him before he slides into the sedan and backs out of the driveway.

 _“Shit,”_ Stiles says, because Derek’s right, he just went straight to the Jeep from the porch swing and didn’t grab anything except the twins.

“Swear jar, Dadda,” chirrups Bonnie, and Stiles shakes his head.

“Yeah sweetie, I know.” _Fuck the fucking swear jar_ , Stiles thinks. _Bane of my fuckin’ life._ “Be right back, guys,” and he vaults up the stairs two at a time to grab his keys, throwing in some victory arms as he goes. There’s a _baby_ on the way.

Inside he remembers to shove the half-made lasagne and sauces inside the fridge, then snags the keys. He pauses only once, to grab a handful of tissues and blot the worst of the tears from his face. Jesus, what is it about childbirth that makes him such a _crier?_

Good thing Cassie’s a lot tougher than either of her birth partners.

 

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	2. Chapter 2

 

This time the call came from the US Marshalls. So that’s... _different_. Stiles flips through his mental files one more time, what he knows of the Marshalls and their various jurisdictions, wonders if these kids are tied up in Witness Protection, a fugitive situation, or something more... complicated.

He shows his ID at the front desk and is escorted through a maze of corridors to a set of rooms he’s never seen before, but could probably navigate with his eyes closed. Interrogation suites tend toward the same layout, same institutional colours, same everything.

“Dr Stilinski?” A tall, lean man wearing honest to God _cowboy boots_ steps into the hallway, and Stiles nods. _Way to maintain the stereotype, dude,_ he thinks. He kind of hopes there a matching hat.

“I’m Marshall Matheson,” he says, and offers his hand.

Stiles shakes, relieved. For a second there he’d thought the guy was going to say I’m Marshall Mathers and he could _not_ have held back the laugh at that. As it is he has _Slim Shady_ running through his head already.

“Good to meet you,” Stiles says. Thank God he’s managed to cure himself of babbling in a work setting, unless there’s a tactical reason for it. It can be kind of hilarious, if he’s honest, to watch a buttoned-down Fed try to cope with a verbal barrage of Stiles-flavoured aweseomeness.

“Thanks for making the time to see us. We’re lucky you were in town, I guess.”

“How’d you hear about me?” he asks. He’s gotten pretty well-known with the Feds and a few of the larger metropolitan police departments over the past five years, but the other agencies are still fairly hit and miss.

“Friend of mine attended your advanced seminar today,” Matheson says as they walk. “She hasn’t shut up about you since the introductory one, actually. Works Juvenile Justice down in Medford.”

“Always nice to have a fan,” Stiles murmurs. He follows the other man into the bullpen, to a desk covered in manila folders. There’s damn near nobody around, which is probably explained by the prison break Stiles heard about on the news. “Two kids, the phone call said?”

“One ten years old, one sixteen,” Mathers- shit, _Matheson_ confirms. “David and Michael Green. Brothers.”

“And how do they come to be of interest to the Marshalls?” Stiles asks. He notes down the names on his iPad, ages too.

“They’re recently orphaned,” Matheson offers. “Mother was in that huge pileup on the interstate almost two months ago. They’re in the short-term fostercare, officially, but they were at the federal courthouse sorting out paperwork with their social worker when there was an aggravated assault of a federal employee. We’re pretty sure the teenager got a good look at the attacker, but he’s...” Matheson pauses.

“Being an unco-operative little shit?” Stiles guesses.

Matheson startles, shoots a sideways glance at Stiles and then laughs a little. “Yeah, I guess that would cover it.”

Stiles shrugs. “Classic defence mechanism. Also, most teenagers tend naturally toward being unco-operative little shits,” he says with feeling.

Ellie wants a piercing. A _piercing_.

“Which is why we called you,” the guy says.

Stiles nods. “Okay. I’m gonna need a case file on what exactly happened today – whatever you have, even if it’s not much.”

“Done,” Matheson says. He slides one of those folders across the desk to Stiles, who starts skimming it.

“You just need a solid description from Michael? That’s it?” he asks as he reads.

“For now. Maybe a line-up, later. But yeah, we’ve got some camera footage, though precious little of the area where it happened. But our other two witnesses – well. One’s injured, getting treatment at the hospital now. The security officer got knocked over as the perp escaped, so he only saw the guy’s shoes." Matheson shrugged. “Michael’s the best chance we have right now.”

Stiles nods, still scanning. “You separated them?” he asks slowly, frowning, and glances up.

“The little one was getting hysterical,” Matheson defends.

Stiles gives a little head-shake. _Scared kids and they separate them_. “Take me to David,” he directs.

“Michael is-”

“Michael is the one you want something from,” Stiles says coolly. “I understand that. But he has no reason to give you anything until he gets something from _you_. Such as a progress report on his little brother.”

Matheson blinks. “Right.” He leads Stiles down another hallway, takes a sharp left and then opens a door.

Inside there’s a young-ish woman – probably the social worker – who is trying to juggle a phone call and an hysterically crying kid. He wonders if these guys had honestly thought... _eh, the social worker’s a woman_. Because that’s all it takes, right? Women and their uteruses automatically calm kids down, even if they don’t know what the fuck is going on or what they’re supposed to do. He grits his teeth.

“Hey,” Stiles says, and steps around Matheson. “Can you give us a-”

He doesn’t get any further than that. The dark haired little kid’s head jerks up like someone just yelled _cake!_ and he shoves out of his seat and barrels straight toward Stiles.

Stiles gets just enough time to brace himself before about eighty pounds of distraught kid slam into his leg and latches on.

There’s a stunned silence. Stiles glances down, more than a little confused. This... doesn’t normally happen. He doesn’t even get this kind of reaction at home, from his _own_ kids, not unless he’s been gone for a night or two.

“Uh,” he says, “hi?” The kid doesn’t move and he glances up to meet the eyes of the exhausted women and a confused Matheson.

“Do you know each other?” Matheson asks, frowning.

Stiles shakes his head slowly. Then glances down at the thatch of dark hair currently pressed against his leg. David’s breath is hot and moist against Stiles’ khakis, and his body is shaking, fine tremors the eye can barely detect. “Um. How about. Do you guys wanna give us a minute?”

“Protocol-” Matheson begins. Behind his back the woman rolls her eyes, still murmuring to someone.

“You can still see us both,” Stiles points out, and nods toward the glass insert in the door. “I just think maybe we’ll make progress faster with fewer people around.”

After a moment Matheson nods, and the two of them leave. The woman shoots Stiles an exhausted half-smile and crouches to speak softly to David before she exits. “I’ll be just outside, David, okay?” She seems all right, then, probably just overworked and in the dark about what the Marshalls were doing when they’d separated the kids.

David is still vibrating against Stiles’ leg, but Stiles thinks there might be words now, and he leans down, listening.

“Hey,” he says softly, and tucks his papers and iPad under one arm. “David?” He hesitates for a second, then lets his free hand drift down to rest on the thick thatch of black hair. “You think you can talk to me? Let go a little, maybe?”

David’s little hands tighten, then loosen, but he doesn’t immediately lift his face. He moves it, almost rubbing, against Stiles’ side, and the familiarity of it tickles in the back of Stiles’ head. Then, just as David lifts his face, understanding explodes through Stiles’ head like a thunderbolt.

The kid is _scenting_. That little shift, tiny rub of the nose against cloth – Derek’s done that a thousand times when Stiles arrives home after being away, Scott does it whenever they meet up in LA-

Jesus Christ. The kid’s a _werewolf_. He’s reacting to the scent of pack, the scent of an alpha’s mate, secure in a long-term bond.

“David?” he manages in a whisper, “are you-” then he stops, willing his brain to start working. He’s not sure if there’s surveillance equipment in here, safer to assume there is. “I guess I... smell pretty good, huh?” he manages. He looks down into a sweet little face, eyes wet and huge with worry.

David nods silently.

Stiles bites his lip. “I... remind you of someone, maybe?”

He nods again.

“Okay.” Stiles shuffles them over to a couple of chairs and manages to get David to sit in one on his own. He’d love to cuddle the kid, but he can’t raise any eyebrows by crossing professional lines like that – not now. God knows what he might have to do to handle this mess.

“Listen,” Stiles says, “My name’s Stiles, and I sometimes help out the police, and the Marshalls when there are kids involved.”

“Are you here to take us away?” David asks. His voice is wobbly, trying hard for brave. Or maybe hopeful, the way he’s still clinging to Stiles. _Take me away from here_.

Stiles shakes his head. _Shit_. “I’m just here to help out. I’m gonna go and talk to Michael in a second, so I can let him know you’re being super-brave and _really calm_ ,” Stiles stresses, and David gives a little nod, like he gets it, which he probably does. He must be near to the change, if he’s getting the senses already – ten is kinda young, from what Derek’s told him, but then... yeah. _Trauma._

“I’ll be good, I promise,” David says. Huge brown eyes stare up at Stiles, full of trust. _Shit, shit, shit_.

Stiles takes a big breath and gets to his feet. He opens the door and leans out, sees Matheson almost instantly. “You guys got a break room? With a TV, maybe?”

Matheson nods.

The social worker, having finally removed her phone from her ear, moves in and offers a hand. “Audrey Lang,” she says. “I think TV is a great idea,” she says, her eyes on David, hovering just behind Stiles.

“All my ideas are great ideas,” Stiles jokes, and shakes her hand. “Stiles. Great to meet you.” He glances over his shoulder. “David, you wanna come and watch some TV?” David is at his side in an instant. Stiles hesitates, glances up at Audrey who is watching with some curiosity but no negative reaction that he can see. So he shrugs and holds out a hand, unsurprised when David immediately takes it and crowds close. He walks side by side with Stiles to the break room, hand clenching reflexively with every second step.

“Okay,” Stiles says, and crouches by David’s chair. “I’m gonna go see Michael now. You’ll do great here with Audrey, and you’ll see Michael real soon, okay?”

David nods, and climbs onto the couch with typical disregard for the state of his shoes, and what they might do to the cushions. Audrey gives Stiles a nod and picks up the remote control and after a moment, hands it to David, watching his reactions.

Stiles pauses in the doorway and lifts his iPad, takes a few seconds of footage of David settling down before following Matheson along another corridor. At the door of the interrogation room Stiles pauses, holding up a hand to stop Matheson. “Listen,” he says, “I have some stuff in a bag in my rental. Can you send someone out to grab it for me?”

Matheson eyes him, then shrugs. “There’s hardly anyone on tonight, I had to send everyone else out to the prison.”

Stiles drags the keys out of his pocket and says, “I can go do it, if you don’t mind waiting, or-”

Matheson gives an impatient shake of his head. He’s probably hoping to wrap this up so he can get out to the prison, too, Stiles thinks.

“No,” Matheson shakes his head. “Sooner you talk to the kid the better. The social worker is already making noises about getting the kids back to their foster home in time for bed.”

Stiles nods and smiles wryly, “And you don’t want to get between a teenager and their next meal, either.”

Matheson shakes his head. “I’ll have to turn on the recording equipment,” he says, eyeing Stiles. That friend must have really talked Stiles up, because he can’t believe he’s going to get the chance to talk to Michael alone. That’s a boatload of trust there. Or maybe desperation, he thinks. Piddly little assault case chewing up time and resources when they also have an escaped fugitive...

“Sure,” he says amiably, like he doesn’t care either way. He watches Matheson duck into the observation room, waits patiently until the Marshall reappears and gives him the nod, then lets himself into the interrogation room.

Michael is pacing, which is no kind of shock to Stiles. His head whips around as the door opens, equal parts rage and fear on his face, so Stiles wastes no time.

“Hi, Michael,” he begins. “My name is Stiles, I’m a consultant for the US Marshall Service. Now the first thing I want to tell you,” he slings his various folders and the iPad onto the table, “is that I just saw your brother and he’s totally fine.”

Michael stops in the corner and regards Stiles with deep suspicion, though his fists loosen slightly. Stiles calls up his video footage of David and slides the iPad across the table, enticing Michael a few steps closer at least. He peers down at the screen, watches David point the remote and click away from the news, face intent on what he’s doing, the social worker sinking down beside him on the couch.

Michael looks up at Stiles. “He ran straight at me,” Stiles says, and offers a small smile. “Maybe I have a familiar aftershave or something? Because he glommed on and would not let go.” He keeps it casual, sorts his paperwork into a little pile and leaves the iPad where it is for now. Then he tilts his head and says carefully, “I actually have someone at home who sniffs me in just exactly the same way.” Stiles shrugs, “Or maybe he could tell I have a whole,” Stiles looks him straight in the eye, “...pack of kids, who knows?”

Michael goes still.

“Why don’t we have a seat?” Stiles says. “I promise you, your brother is completely unharmed, he’s _unchanged_ in any way from the kid you know and love.” He keeps the emphasis light and hopes Michael is getting the message.

Michael looks up from the iPad, measuring Stiles, then gives a jerky nod and yanks his chair back from the table.

He’s not a werewolf. Stiles recognizes the tiny tells pretty well by now. Michael’s not scenting the air, not listening to anything other than Stiles’ voice. But he is just about to vibrate out of that chair with normal, human tension.

“Now,” Stiles reaches for his papers, opens the folder and grabs a pen, “the Marshalls tell me you’re the best chance they have of identifying the person who assaulted someone at the courthouse today.” As he talks, he scribbles randomly, wishing his upside-down writing skills were keener. He glances up, meets Michael’s eyes, and glances pointedly down at the sheet of paper between them.

_U got any pack?_

Michael’s eyes widen. But that’s it, that’s his only tell, which is pretty damn good for a kid.

He clears his throat, and after a moment, says, “Yeah they said something about it but I wasn’t listening. It’s just – David’s all I’ve got, you know?”

Stiles holds his gaze for a second, then gives a tiny nod. Right. So they’re alone in the world.

 _Shit_.

“Well,” Stiles says, “if you can answer a few questions we can at least get you out of here.” He slides that piece of paper carefully back inside the folder, every movement no different than he’s done a thousand times before. He’ll destroy it later, when there are no cameras around.

Michael nods once, a small movement.

The door behind them opens and it’s Matheson. He’s carrying Stiles’ messenger bag.

“Ah, great, thanks, Marshall,” Stiles says, and gets to his feet. He accepts the bag and turns back to Michael. “Now here’s, the thing. David is in the break room watching TV and likely eating vending machine food. We can either do this interview as quick as possible and then you can collect him, or.” He digs into his bag, “I have a whole video library of kid’s movies on my iPad, and,” he drags out his collection of SD cards, triumphant, “an extremely effective pair of headphones that will block out our conversation. So, if you want, we can bring David in here, and you can have him nearby while you give us a description and answer some questions. Whaddya think?”

There’s a moment, Michael’s eyes flicking cautiously toward Matheson before he says, “I’d like, uh. Yeah. Can you bring him here?”

“Absolutely,” Stiles says, smiling and daring Matheson to object. He turns to look at the Marshall, who crosses to the phone on the wall without a word.

“He’s a cute kid,” Stiles continues, conversationally, sinking back into his chair. “Melted my heart, I’m not ashamed to say, with the world-champion hugging back there. I’m a sucker for a hug, what can I say,” he shrugs, then shoots a glance up through his lashes, “I’m only human.”

Michael’s hand clenches, then relaxes. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, “everybody loves Davy.”

Stiles shrugs, “Well, I’m kinda allowed to be a soft touch at home. My other half’s more the ...authoritative type, y’know what I mean?”

Michael doesn’t react to that, and Stiles wonders if that was maybe too roundabout. There’s not a whole lot of ways to work the term ‘alpha’ into this conversation, though, with Matheson only a few feet away. Then the teenager says, “Not really. We never... it was just the three of us. My Dad died when I was little, and Davy’s father took off when Mom was still pregnant with him.”

Stiles nods slowly. Okay. So... Mom that died in a car crash was probably human. Werewolf Dad knocks up a human single mother and promptly hightails it out of there. What a prince. Stiles sincerely hopes he at least clued her in on the possible wolfy traits her baby might one day display.

He must have, Stiles guesses, because Michael clearly knows enough to know that David’s control was shaky and that is potentially a Very Bad Thing.

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	3. Chapter 3

 

When Stiles has waved David and Michael into the car with their social worker, he says the standard goodbyes and professional thank yous to Matheson, promises a typed up version of the report within three days, and gets back in his rental car. He pulls out of the lot and drives randomly for a few minutes, partly because he’s not sure where he is and partly because he wants to get somewhere anonymous, _yesterday_.

He pulls into the well-lit parking lot of a strip mall filled with takeaway joints, and turns off the engine. Then he makes the call.

“Stiles?”

“Hey babe,” Stiles says. He’s staring down at the social worker’s card, flipping it end on end.

“You’ll never guess.”

“What?”

“Ezra’s flying in at the end of the month. He ended things with Susan, for good this time. Says he’s thinking of taking the plunge and moving out here.”

“Get _out,”_ Stiles says, distracted for a second. “Did Cassie finally call him?”

“Don’t know,” and Stiles can almost hear the shrug. “Maybe he just decided he was sick of waiting?”

“Huh.” He wants to smile, wants to enjoy it, the whole pack’s been on tenterhooks hoping the two of them would finally figure things out... but right now Stiles can only think about one thing.

“Stiles? What is it,” Derek hasn’t lost his touch, and damn, he’d thought these near-crises phone calls had stopped once he left college, came home and became, y’know, a frickin’ grown-up.

But Derek can still always tell when Stiles is freaking out, despite the way Stiles has had to learn to keep a lid on it, professionally, and the inevitable bleed-through to his private life. Even his Dad sometimes struggles to read him now, Stiles’ poker face is that good. He wouldn’t be much of an interviewer if his face betrayed everything he thought or felt.

Stiles stalls, honestly stuck for words. Then, he can’t help it, he just starts to laugh. It’s hysterical, a little high-pitched, and not at all flattering, but fucked if he can get it under control.

“How would- Derek, I- this is crazy, but- would you, ah, _shit_. Babe.”

“Stiles-”

There’s real worry there, and it forces Stiles to pull it together. He tips his head back on a deep breath, grips the steering wheel, hard.

“Derek,” he says, still laughing helplessly at the roof of the car, “light of my life, how would you feel about two more kids?”

_“What?”_

As if to punctuate the insanity of what Stiles is thinking, in the background Grace starts to cry. “Shit,” Derek mutters, and there’s some rustling and the crying is suddenly, shockingly loud for a second before she settles a little, down to low-level grizzling.

“Stiles,” Derek begins, clearly distracted and clearly moving around. “What are you-”

“That call I got after the seminar today? These kids, recently orphaned,” Stiles tells him, “and _shit_ , Derek. Do you remember the story you told me about Jacob – when he was young? That sniffing thing he used to do, when he was upset?” He wills Derek to understand what he’s getting at. They never use the word _werewolf_ on the phone. _Never_. Just in case.

 _“Jacob-”_ Derek begins, clearly stressed and confused and not sure why the hell Stiles would be bringing up such a sensitive subject as his long-dead brother. And then there are sound Stiles recognizes easily, even though it’s years since the twins were this young and Cass has mostly been able to breastfeed in person until lately. There’s the bing of the microwave, the slosh of the bottle, the tiny sounds coming from Grace as Derek settles her...

Stiles pictures her, tucked into Derek’s ridiculously strong arms, little bow lips latching on to the teat like it’s the only thing in the universe. He’s a lucky, lucky man. They both are.

“Jacob,” Derek says again a moment later, more slowly. “These kids reminded you of _Jacob_ , is what you’re saying?”

“One of ‘em does, yeah,” Stiles confirms. He waits. He knows Derek is processing this, is trying to figure out if Stiles really means he met a child werewolf today, or whether he’s hinting at something else.

“Shit,” Derek says heavily after a few moments.

“My thoughts _exactly_ ,” Stiles says on a sigh.

 

 

 

Stiles spends that night not-sleeping in his hotel room, with bad TV on mute in the background and the same endless circle of questions rolling around in his head. Is he crazy to be considering this, only hours after meeting them for the first time? How would it even work? The Greens aren’t babies, thankfully, so the supervisory burden wouldn’t be all that huge, compared to Grace’s time of life.

He sighs. Yeah, apart from feeding and watering and loving them, and homework and sports and birthday parties and having room in the house and figuring out how all the kids would slot in with each other...

Simple. Real fucking simple.

 

 

 

In the morning Derek calls. Apparently there’s an established pack in rural Oregon with an alpha Peter knew in his youth. They’ll reach out, pack to pack, and see if there is space for the boys closer to home. Derek is... very unsure about the whole thing. A young werewolf in the house is no laughing matter, especially one who is adjusting to the change. There’s a lot to think about, not least of which would be the safety of the younger kids. David might need to be homeschooled for a while, if he struggles with control.

“Okay,” Stiles says, and bites his tongue. Derek hasn’t met them. Hasn’t had those little arms wrapped around his leg like Stiles was the last safe thing in this life.

He packs his bag and takes one tiny detour on the way to the airport.

 

 

 

“David certainly took a shine to you,” Audrey comments. “Michael, too, for that matter. He’s not prone to spending time with any adult unless he’s forced to do so, but he spoke quite highly of you on the trip home.”

“Eh, I’ve always been a charmer,” Stiles deflects. His coffee arrives and he stares down at it, avoiding meeting her gaze. Takes a sip and it’s overbrewed, somebody probably scorched the beans. That’s the reason for this taste in his mouth, bad coffee.

She’s eyeing him speculatively. He doesn’t know – he honestly _does not know_ – if he wants her to speculate about him in that way, or not. Those kids – these _poor fucking kids_ – they deserve a family that can truly understand them. They deserve to stay together. And it’s not like he and Derek had resolved anything last night. How could they? The very idea of it is huge – _huge_ – and would involve the entire family, not just the two of them.

“I just wanted to stop by and check on how they’re doing,” Stiles finally says. “I’m flying home in a couple of hours.”

“You’re not based in Oregon?” she asks, and it’s not an idle question. Stiles sighs internally. This is a potential out. It’d be good to know if he _wants_ the out.

“Northern California,” he says. Sighs again and turns to face her, “Where I’m already raising four kids – a teenager, six year old twins and a five-month old baby.” Her eyes widen. “With my husband.” _There_.

“Hmm,” she says. “Well, Oregon doesn’t discriminate against same-sex couples in adoption.”

“I know,” Stiles says, feeling the approach of hysteria. “I _know_ , okay? What I _don’t_ know is if Derek and I could cope with _six kids_ , or how the kids _themselves_ would feel about it-”

“Stiles,” she interrupts gently, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I only-”

“You want what’s best for the kids,” Stiles finishes for her. “I know, I get it.”

“I’ve never seen a child of David’s age react to a stranger that way. And the fact that Michael didn’t see you as a threat and react badly? It just...” she shrugs, a small gesture. “I’m sorry. It just looked so promising.”

Stiles nods, feeling grim and worried and low. He shrugs, helpless. “I have to catch my flight.” She nods and he sighs. “Here’s my card,” he says as he rises. “I guess... let me know? If they’re okay?”

 

 

 * * *

 

Derek’s thrilled to see him, of course, though Stiles suspects that’s partly so he can hand Grace over and actually manage to drink more than three sips of coffee in a row. Marriage is sometimes about the practicalities, Stiles has learned over the years.

They put off any heavy conversation to later on that night, when the twins are in bed and Grace is kicking her feet in the air in the middle of their bed and Ellie is cocooned in her room with her headphones on – though she still might overhear, and Stiles supposes that’s cool, she’s old enough to be part of this conversation.

“Alpha Storensen is aware of the situation,” Derek says, and his handsome face is grim.

“Aware? What the hell does _that_ mean?” Stiles spits and rinses and returns to the ensuite doorway.

“It means he’s not interested in taking a non-blood related human into his pack.”

“But he is related,” Stiles says stupidly, “he’s related to _David._ ”

Derek just looks at him.

“Well, fuck,” Stiles says.

“He’s old-school,” Derek says heavily. He props himself on one elbow and rests a hand on Grace’s tummy, watches her little socked feet move through the air. “He’s not a young man, he has an alpha-apparent, his son, and he’s only considering David because he’d really be more of a third-generation, in their pack structure, he’d be no threat to anyone.”

“Asshole,” Stiles says. “A sixteen year old would be a threat, though?”

Derek shrugs. “He has a daughter who’s seventeen, from a second marriage. Doesn’t want to risk it, I guess.”

“ _We_ have a teenaged daughter-” Stiles argues, and stops abruptly as Derek’s eyes shift to the doorway.

“Who can hear you, by the way.”

Derek waves her in. “We weren’t trying to exclude you, honey,” he says. “Just... we haven’t really talked about this to each other yet.”

“Talked to each other about...”

Stiles sighs and dumps his toothbrush before snagging his iPad from where it’s charging. He pictures _two_ werewolf kids in the house, overhearing every conversation... it doesn’t seem that terrible, actually. He cues up the short video of David. Derek hasn’t seen it yet, either.

“This is David,” Stiles offers.

“O-kaaay,” Ellie says, and sinks down onto the bed, accepting the iPad and holding it up over Grace’s flailing feet. Derek leans up to watch over Ellie’s shoulder.

“His mother died a couple of months ago,” Stiles says carefully, because Moms are kind of a sensitive subject for every single one of the people in this room.

“Oh,” Ellie says quietly.

“He’s a werewolf,” Stiles adds, and she blinks at him, shocked. “I think he must be on the edge of the change, maybe his mother’s death brought it forward or something, because when I went to interview him he attached to me like a little barnacle-”

“Someone _hurt him?”_ Ellie demands, and woah, channelling Derek much? Ellie in fierce and protective mode... Sometimes Stiles loves her so much it hurts.

“No, thank God,” Stiles says. It kind of sucks that Ellie now has some real understanding of what Stiles’ job entails, but then, it’s not like she doesn’t understand how shitty life can be, what with her own background. “He and his brother witnessed a crime.”

“He has a brother?”

“Sixteen years old and human,” Stiles confirms.

“And they don’t have any other family? No pack?”

“There’s a pack willing to take David,” Derek murmurs. He hasn’t looked away from the iPad yet, restarting the loop of David clutching at the remote control, hunching down into the sofa cushions. Grace makes a small noise, starting to get bored with the endlessly interesting vista of her own feet, and Stiles beats both of the werewolves to it, gathering her up with a proud grin.

Hey, he’s been away for three days. He gets first cuddle rights. She’s not looking for cuddles, though, she wants stimulation so he slips off the bed and starts walking with her, bouncing a little.

“Wait- _just_ David?” Ellie gets it right away, of course. Smart girl.

“Yeah,” Derek says heavily.

“But _why?”_

Derek shrugs and shakes his head. He looks stuck somewhere between guilty and annoyed as he pushes the iPad away. “Some packs aren’t very flexible. Old fashioned ideas about bloodlines. An unclaimed werewolf child in their territory is a threat to secrecy and stability, so they’re almost obligated to take him, but they won’t ‘taint’ their pack any further than that.”

Ellie shakes her head. “So, we’re gonna try and help them, right, Da? We can’t let anybody split them up.”

Stiles smiles at her, proud. “Yeah, Ellie-bean.” For once she doesn’t roll her eyes at the old nickname, and he hugs that word, _Da,_ to his heart. She doesn’t call him that too often. He’s still Stiles a lot of the time. Sometimes he wonders if those college years he spent away cut a little too deep – or maybe she was always going to be this way, who knows?

“Wait a second,” her eyes narrow then, “you don’t mean- you mean bring them into _our_ pack?”

Stiles bites his lip and darts a glance at Derek. Ellie had been pretty little when the twins were born, small enough to be nothing but delighted at having a brother and a sister. Her reaction to Grace has been a little more... wary. Stiles still isn’t sure if it’s because Grace is biologically Derek’s, or it’s a scent/pack/territory thing because Ellie has transitioned into a werewolf now, or if it’s just part of the charming teenage rollercoaster their life has become lately. Or maybe she’s just generally wary that babysitting might cut into her suddenly flowering social life.

“It’s one option,” Derek says, diplomatically.

 _Derek_ says _diplomatically_.

There was a time Stiles could not have even _thought_ those words in the same sentence.

“That’s... kind of huge,” Ellie says, and she does not look impressed.

“We know,” Stiles says. “Believe me, we know. And honestly, unless you and the twins met them and were happy about it, it’s not even really a possibility. Four kids is already a lot, but we planned for this, we decided it after a lot of discussion. Six is...”

“Six is a _really_ big ask,” Derek says, which cuts Stiles a little. But... that’s fair, because Derek is the mostly stay-at-home Dad in their particular scenario. It’s _Stiles_ who gets called away to FBI field offices far and wide, or police departments all over the country. He’s an established name now, so he has more influence, and money’s not really a concern, but it’s only since Grace was born that Stiles has been referring on requests from anywhere other than the west coast, to try and be closer to home until she’s older.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

The Oregon pack are moving forward with their application to adopt David, so really they have no option but to quickly bring this up with the twins, talk to Dad and Peter and the others about it. Everyone is various levels of shocked, concerned, compassionate and helpful, but the pack can only do so much. The bulk of this is going to fall on Derek and Stiles. So a week later the six of them bundle onto the interstate and make the drive north.

The twins _seem_ to understand what’s on the table. They’re not too invested in either direction, probably because they can’t really understand the permanency of it all. Ellie has been quiet all week, and sullen and silent the whole drive. Stiles sighs quietly. He’s not sure if it’s because she hates the idea, or whether this is because she’s missing a party at her friend’s house tonight.

At any rate, they make it to Portland unscathed and check into the family suite. Just that one small achievement of getting all of their belongings out of the car, where they promptly seem to explode over every surface in the rooms, has Stiles questioning his sanity. He can’t imagine doing this with two extra kids.

Grace is crying, unsettled by the journey, Ellie is surgically attached to her phone, and the twins are busting with energy.

“Go,” Stiles tells Derek. “Take ‘em... somewhere.” The alpha shoots him a grateful glance and suddenly it’s just Stiles, Grace and Ellie. By the time Derek comes back - bearing food, thank God - Grace is sleeping in the port-a-cot and Ellie has her headphones on, staring out the window with resentment at the rainy vista.

Stiles sighs, accepts his dinner and hopes tomorrow goes better.

 

 

 

Some anonymous CPS worker brings the boys to meet them in the park they’d nominated. Audrey apparently still gets weekends off, good for her, and there’s an awkward half-hour or so before the anonymous woman backs off a little and just observes. Stiles’ police check is a thing of legend, of course, and Derek had to pass one only last year in order to work on the redesign of a daycare center, so at least one paperwork hurdle had been simple. There are still home visits and other paperwork nightmares to go, of course, if they’re going to actually do this.

Once the introductions are done, David tears off to the play equipment with the twins, Derek hastily following. Derek’s wary of David, Stiles can see it, and wonders again how often something had gone wrong with one of the Hale kids at this stage of transition. He makes a mental note to ask Peter – gently – about it.

Ellie is aloof, watching David with the twins, watching Michael talk to Stiles and Grace, barely interacting beyond “Hey,” “Yeah,” and “No.”

Stiles takes a long, fortifying breath and reminds himself that he, too, was once a teenager. Michael is fascinated by Grace, who is kicking her little legs in the sling, and after about an hour, offers diffidently to take her.

Startled, Stiles agrees, unsnaps the thing and hands her over. Behind Michael he sees Ellie stiffen, but she says nothing and drags her phone out again instead. Probably updating her facebook status to _unbearable suffering_ or something, he thinks, suddenly annoyed with her. Where the hell is her understanding for two kids who are in pretty much the same mess she was in all those years ago?

He shifts restlessly and glances over at Michael. “You okay here for a second?” he asks. He needs to walk this off before he says something stupid to Ellie and starts a fight.

“Yeah,” Michael says, and smiles softly down at Grace. “I remember Davy at this age. We’ll be fine. Won’t we, Grace?” He seems very young in that moment, not yet self-conscious about his image the way most teenagers are, and Stiles remembers what he’d spotted in their file, that Michael had turned sixteen only three weeks ago. _Shittiest birthday ever,_ Stiles thinks sadly.

He tag-teams with Derek, who doesn’t seem to need to be told what Stiles’ problem is. The alpha is on high alert, probably wolf-wise and emotionally, but at the very least Stiles can tell he likes David, the soft line of Derek’s mouth tells him that.

Stiles flings himself into the game the twins are trying to explain to David, who slants a shy smile up at him from where he’s hanging upside down on the jungle gym. Stiles finds his throat suddenly blocked, and he drops a hand on David’s arm for just a second, wishing he could-

He sighs. Life doesn’t work that way. He, of all people, knows that.

So... lunch happens. It’s messy and loud but mostly okay. There’s enough of the Stilinski-Hales that there’s really no chance of an awkward silence. The Green brothers don’t talk too much, Michael is getting progressively quieter as the day goes on, and Ellie has positioned herself pointedly between the twins so that the two newcomers are stuck together on the opposite side of the picnic rug. Derek and Stiles exchange glances but let it go. Forcing things would be beyond stupid. This is a first meeting. Stiles is an idiot for maybe, secretly, hoping there’d be some magical _click_.

Then there’s kite-flying, after lunch, and, of course, cleanup. Stiles volunteers to tidy up the food, wanting Derek to have as much time with the Greens as possible, and he’s only half-done when Michael appears at his side.

“Hey,” Stiles says, and slows his pace, offers a smile.

“Hey,” Michael returns. His face is serious, and he stacks plastic plates like his life depends upon it. Stiles just waits, and suddenly he says, “There’s a pack that wants to adopt David.”

Stiles freezes. “Yeah. Uh, I know,” he says.

Michael swallows. He keeps his eyes on his hands as he says, “I don’t think your daughter likes me.” He doesn’t have to elaborate on which daughter. Bonnie had loved the aeroplane rides Michael had offered earlier, and at this age, she’s pretty much that easily won.

“She doesn’t really know you,” Stiles says. But they also both know she’s not trying.

Behind Michael he can see Ellie going still, her werewolf hearing kicking in, even from where she’s now waiting in the backseat of the car, her phone, like her scowl, seemingly permanently attached.

“Yeah, but-” Michael stops. “That other pack,” he says. “I don’t think they... I don’t know if they’d let me see David.”

Ouch. Stiles practises some deep breathing. “Have they said something?”

Michael shrugs, mouth set. Stiles guesses there’s lots of ways to convey a general air of _you’re not wante_ d to a sixteen year old orphan. The _fuckers_.

Michael licks his lips and says, “If you guys- I mean. I’d get it. If you didn’t want- I mean, she’s your kid, and if she doesn’t, like, want another teenager around, or whatever.” Michael swallows and chokes out, “If you just wanted to take David, I’d. That’d be okay with me. Because, I mean, Audrey says I could emancipate in a year or two. So I could move to Beacon Hills – get my own place, I mean, but if you’d let me see him that’d be- he needs a pack, you know? Someone to show him stuff I can’t because I’m just - I’m just a _human_.”

“Michael-” Stiles breaks in because he can’t let this continue. He just _can’t_. His fucking heart is going to _break_. “Hey. Stop, kid.”

Michael does, head down, chewing on his lip and breathing unevenly.

Stiles looks up, sees Derek staring right at him, mouth set in a shocked line. James runs straight past him, shrieking with laugher and the alpha scrubs a hand over his face and turns back to the kids, every movement heavy with sorrow. Stiles carefully doesn’t look Ellie’s way. “Listen to me, Michael. You’re a terrific kid, do you hear me?” He puts a hand on one thin shoulder, swallows hard and forces the hoarse words out because maybe no-one else is going to tell this kid what he needs to hear.

“I think you’re awesome. We’re not just here because of David, you to know that, right? We’re here for _both_ of you. And Ellie... Ellie is figuring things out for herself – and you’re a teenager, so I know you get how mixed up things can feel sometimes, but- she’s a great kid, Michael, and I know she’ll give you both a chance.”

Michael swallows audibly.

“The thing is,” Stiles says slowly, hating this. “It’s complicated for us. Because we have four kids already, and so we really need to be fair to everyone and think about this, like, a _lot_. But it’s not because of _you_ that- it wouldn’t ever be for that reason that we might not go ahead with it, okay? I really need you to believe that, Michael.”

He stumbles on, barely making sense to himself, “We have to figure out how the whole six kid thing would even work – like, is there a car that can fit a family of eight? And do we have room in the house? Could we _actually_ do it, like, day to day, because I go away for work a lot, and so Derek has to do all of this on his own sometimes... there are a lot of complications, Michael, but I swear not one of them is because of _you_. Okay?”

Michael nods once, then scrambles to his feet and walks off, away from everyone. He’s crying, Stiles is pretty sure, and the CPS lady starts toward him, then hesitates and backs away, eyeing Stiles.

Stiles closes his eyes. Fuck. He wants to hug that kid so damn bad. But he just doesn’t have the right, doesn’t have the relationship.

 _Fuck_ this whole situation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They drive home mostly in silence that night. Stiles just feels like fucking crying the whole time, he’ll have to ask Cass or Allison if this is how pregnant hormonal women feel because every single thing he thinks about in connection to Michael and David just closes his throat over and twists his gut.

Derek is driving like there are Terminators on their trail, eyes fixed on the road, jaw clenched. Grace is gurgling in the back seat, the twins have passed out from their long day at the park, and Ellie hasn’t spoken a word since they farewelled Michael and David in the parking lot with silent, desperate hugs. Derek’s face when David had scented his neck had been fucking _heartbreaking_.

They’ve already crossed the border into California when she says once, quiet, “They’d – they wouldn’t really stop him seeing David, right? They’d let him see his brother.”

She sounds like she really, really wants to believe it.

Stiles turns his head and stares out the window into the night, eyes burning. He doesn’t have an answer for that.

It’s a long time before Derek says softly, “I don’t know Ellie. I just- don’t know.” And that’s the last anyone says on the matter for the rest of the weekend.

Monday morning just before she walks out the front door for school she says, “If you want, you can. Michael and David. They can come. I don’t...” and with a jerk of one shoulder, she’s out the door.

Stiles stares, wide-eyed, at the half-open front door, then at Derek. Brief hope flares in his heart-

Derek takes a big breath and gives Stiles a warning look. The crash to earth is pretty fucking awful.

Stiles’ shoulders slump, because he can't argue the point. Derek is right. Grudging acceptance is not enough.

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	5. Chapter 5

 

That night, Stiles knocks gently on her door while Derek is changing Grace.

“Hey,” he says, and Ellie glances up, immediately wary. “Got a minute?”

She nods, shifts on the bed with one leg tucked under her like Stiles saw Allison do so many times when they were teenagers.

He sits down on the bed and rubs his hands on this thighs, nervous now like he never is in crime-related interviews. “I- look, what you said this morning. That was- that was _great,_ honey, _”_ he says, sincerely. “I’m really, _really_ proud of you for thinking about the Greens, and wanting to help them.”

She eyes him up and down. “But,” she says, and her mouth twists.

Yep. That’s Stiles’ influence, right there. She’s emotionally intelligent like _woah,_ damn good at verbal fencing, and if she ever tries to pursue it in a line of work she will go very, very far. She’d be a kickass school principal, he thinks, and bites back private amusement at how much that idea would horrify her.

He sighs. “Thing is, it’s just – it can’t really work that way, Ellie. At least, I don’t think so,” he amends. “It’s not like I’ve ever done this before-”

“You kind of have, though,” she interrupts. And her gaze is clear and direct.

“I.” Stiles blinks at her. Then smiles, “Heh. Forgot. So, I guess, yeah. But that was a very different situation.”

“You mean that I was a package deal, you couldn’t have stayed with Dad and not had me, too.”

Stiles’ eyes narrow. “I hope you don’t mean that the way it sounds,” he says, unimpressed and pretty fucking hurt. “Because there is no universe where I didn’t fall in love with you just as much as I did with Derek, and you know _damn well_ I didn’t-”

He stops when she ducks her head, smiling a little. “I didn’t mean- no, I know that, Da,” she says. “Just that- I mean, it was a lot simpler, I guess. You loved Dad, you loved me... it all made sense, not a lot of complications, right?”

Stiles nods, inwardly amused at hearing the way Ellie remembers that time. Because what Stiles mostly remembers is his Dad’s badly-concealed worry, and Scott’s resistance, and Derek’s guilt, and underneath it all, his own terror at how _completely unqualified_ he was to do _any_ of this, and the crushing knowledge of how important it was that he _not fuck this up_.

No pressure, or anything, for an eighteen year old kid. He pictures Ellie, tries to imagine if, a year from now, she found herself a parent, and is suddenly swamped with empathy for his own Dad’s worries.

“In a way, yeah. And I guess that’s what I’m trying to talk about, for this situation we’re in now. Can you imagine if I’d tried to fake it with you? It would never have worked. I had to love you for myself, not just for Derek.”

She eyes him shrewdly. “So now, you’re saying...”

“I’m saying, if you’re thinking you can just say, ‘fine, okay, let them come live here’, and then, I don’t know, avoid the rest of us or opt out of interacting with Michael and David, as if they’re just like, annoying tenants or something... that’s not going to work either, Ellie. We can’t _‘whatever’_ our way through this,” he adds, can’t resist mimicking Ellie’s habitual response to serious conversations, air quotes and all.

Her face stills and he hastens to add, “I don’t mean you did anything wrong, honey, I just... I really, really love that you want to, you know, protect those boys or whatever, but-”

“Family doesn’t work that way,” Derek says from the doorway. The flick of Ellie’s eyes past his shoulder had given enough warning that Stiles manages not to flail. “Remember how weird it was when Kerrie first moved out here?”

Ellie grimaces.

“It took time for all of us to adjust to each other, and we all had to make an effort. People don’t always instantly click the way Cassie and the pack did, and sometimes it’s never that smooth. Like Uncle Scott and me. We do okay, but we’d never have been friends if it weren’t for Stiles. And with kids it’s- it’s even _more_ complicated.”

“So because the twins don’t care it’s all on me-”

“ _No,_ honey, no,” Stiles begins, and Derek is just there, slumping down on the bed, Grace tucked in the crook of one arm.

“No-one is saying that, Ellie,” Derek says. “Your opinion is important. But honestly? I don’t know how _I_ feel about this, either.”

Stiles doesn’t move. He stares down at the covers and sets his jaw. He knows this. The two of them had talked it over, a little, in the dark of night. But Stiles can’t seem to explain it, the clench in his gut he’d felt that night when David had run straight at him, like he was the only point of safety in a hostile world, or how winded he’d felt when Michael had said _he’s all I’ve got_.

And Stiles wants to _batter_ Derek with it, that feeling, shove it through the bond and force a reaction but it wouldn’t be fair and he’s not that far gone, not yet.

“So you don’t... want to take them?” Ellie asks uncertainly. Her eyes flicker between the two of them.

“I’m not saying that.” Derek sighs and shifts Grace up onto his shoulder. “I’m just-” There’s silence for a minute and then he says heavily, “I remember what our house was like. Before the fire.”

Ellie’s eyes widen and fly to meet Stiles’. Derek still doesn’t talk much about Before, and they both go very still and just wait.

“The house was full, _so_ full,” Derek says, and there’s a near-smile in his eyes that’s heartbreaking in its sadness. “This would be like that all over again, in a lot of ways. But I know how hard my parents had to work and I just...” he shakes his head. “I’m scared of it, I guess. In a way.”

Stiles glances up at him, blinking. Man. How had he not seen that? He puts a hand on Derek’s back, bracing the curve of his spine and lets the bond unfurl in the back of his head, love and affection and trust all woven together throughout the years...

“I’m not- you know, I’m not my Dad,” Derek husks out. He leans his head a little closer to Grace, and she makes one of those funny little baby noises that just crack your heart clean open every time you hear it. “He was. Just this _oasis_ of calm in the middle of all this chaos.” He swallows, and Stiles and Ellie sit silently, waiting. “And _Mom_ \- Mom was the boss, and God knows I’m nowhere near enough like her, either.”

 _“Babe-”_ Stiles begins.

“I think you’ve done just fine,” Ellie says firmly, her eyes steady on her father’s face. Then she takes a deep breath. “And I think if you want to try to bring Michael and David into this pack, they’ll be the luckiest kids I know.”

Derek stares up at her, eyes wet. His breath is coming fast. For a long moment they stare breathlessly at each other and then, into that perfect, silent moment, Grace lets out a belch that would shame a linebacker.

Stiles snorts, then bites his lip, but too late. Derek laughs helplessly, lifting Grace up to dangle above their heads while Ellie shakes her head and rolls her eyes and mutters, “Gross.”

They’re all crying with laughter by the time they settle, except for Grace, who has now mashed her fist into her mouth, and is drooling like there’s a gold medal on the line.

“Oh man,” Stiles is wiping his eyes, “oh, for crying out loud.”

“Our delicate little angel,” Derek murmurs wryly.

Ellie reaches out and takes Grace from her father. She snuggles the babe against her chest, still smiling, and leans back on her pillows. Only when Grace sighs and nestles closer does Ellie look up at the two of them, one slim hand resting carefully on the baby’s back. “I think maybe this pack has room for two more,” she says quietly.

There’s silence.

“Ellie,” Derek husks.

“Are you _sure?”_ Stiles says. He takes a deep breath. “Because it really is okay for you to say no. You have that right, honey. _All_ of you do,” he adds, glancing at Derek, because Stiles hadn’t actually said that at any point, which makes him a shitty husband and co-parent.

She tilts her head until her cheek presses on the soft down covering Grace’s head. For a long time they’re all silent, and Stiles is so proud of her because he can see her thinking about it- really working things through in her head.

“We can make it work,” she finally says, calm and confident. “I know we can.” She glances up at Derek, then Stiles. “I won’t- I’ll try, I promise.”

And that’s all they can really ask of her.

Stiles swallows. Licks his lips. Waits until Derek has pushed up off the bed, and is standing in front of him. Then Stiles looks up at that beautiful, familiar face.

“You want this?” Derek asks, like he doesn’t already know. The expression on his face is achingly tender, completely open.

Stiles is shaking. His heart is racing, and he can’t answer.

“Stiles?”

He bites his lip.

“Stiles? Sweetheart?” Derek is husking the words out now.

Stiles puts a hand over his face. “You weren’t _there_ , Derek,” he manages. “He just. The way he grabbed hold of me, like there was nothing safe except for-” he takes a huge breath. “He hung onto me _so hard_ and I wanted to just fucking grab him and-”

 _“Stiles,”_ Derek manages, and he’s crouching down, one big hand on each of Stiles’ knees.

“I want them _both,”_ he chokes out, and it’s starting to leak through the bond now, he can’t seem to hold it back. “I want them here so bad, and I _know_ it’s insane, I know it’s not fair to ask, but I can – I was thinking I could stop consulting, you know. If I go back to lecturing and writing I can be home more-”

“Stiles, stop,” Derek whispers, and he does. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

He lets out a miserable, guilty laugh. “I didn’t want to put pressure on you-” Stiles begins.

“Because there is no way for this to work if we can’t talk about this honestly-”

“I _know,”_ Stiles hisses, frustrated, “I fucking _know_ that, _okay_ , I just felt like such a selfish creep because we only just had Grace, because I know how lucky we are to have what we have - each other, I mean - not just all these beautiful, healthy kids and who the hell am I to ask you to take on even more-”

“Uh, guys?”

Stiles freezes. Shit. They’re still in the middle of Ellie’s room, aren’t they? They’re actually having this argument in front of their goddam daughter. Ugh. This is what he and Derek like to call a Father of the Year moment.

He has to clear his throat. “Um, sorry?” he tries.

“Yeah, uh,” Derek rubs a sheepish hand over the top of his head.

“How about I keep Grace until she’s ready to sleep and you guys, uh. Talk this out,” Ellie says, looking torn between laughter and horror, much like she looks whenever she catches them kissing. Which, happily, is still a _lot_.

“Yeah, okay,” Derek says, and starts ushering Stiles out the door. “Thanks, honey.”

“No internet for her,” Stiles hisses back over the alpha’s shoulder, “and do not play _Blurred Lines_ while she is in here, either. I’ll know if you do.” He _hates_ that fucking song and its fucked-up messages.

“Fine,” Ellie rolls her eyes and grins into Grace’s fuzz. Derek closes the door firmly between them and steers Stiles down the hallway, up the stairs and into their room.

When the door closes behind them Stiles sinks into the rocking chair that’s now seen three babies through midnight feeds and sleeplessness. He swallows and glances up at Derek. Hesitates, then tries a hopeful look.

Derek shakes his head, drops to his knees and reaches out to settle his hands at Stiles’ hips. “All these years,” he sighs, “and you’re still as much of a dumbass as ever.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles mumbles into his shoulder. “And who’s the dumbass who married me and is raising four kids with me?”

Derek takes one long, shuddering breath. _“Six_ kids,” he says.

Stiles freezes. Then tightens his arms as hard as they’ll go around his husband, his mate, his alpha. _“Really?”_

“Yeah,” he husks. “Let’s do it. There’s six of us living in this house already, we probably won’t even _notice_ two more. Piece of cake, right?” Then he starts to laugh, and Stiles feels the dizzy rush of euphoria and terror spiral through the bond.

He looks down and knows what Derek is about to say before he says it, “I’m telling you, Stiles-”

“Don’t you _dare,”_ he warns.

“I just know it,” Derek says, with that shit-eating grin of his. “Nothing can go wrong now.”

“Oh my fucking God,” Stiles shrieks, high and wild. _Now_ is when Derek chooses to tempt the supernatural fates, spit in the face of the cardinal rule of all horror movies? Now, when their life finally no longer resembles one? “You are the _worst.”_

Derek snickers into Stiles’ shoulder and he slaps at the only part of the alpha he can reach, his stupid husband’s stupid head. Derek can probably tell without looking that he’s grinning at the ceiling, already picturing telling the boys. “I swear, I will _never_ know why I agreed to marry you,” Stiles huffs.

Derek can’t seem to stop laughing. It’s possibly edged with hysteria. “Yeah,” he says. “I can’t explain it, either.”

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I am probably the only person on the planet who considers those two lines of dialogue a bookend. (Virtual prizes to anyone who can figure out why.)
> 
> Thank you so much to all the readers who stuck with me this far, through the various twists and turns even I didn't see coming. I really do think I'm finished now. 
> 
> Stay tuned, I have a Pod-Together project coming later in the year - yes, MORE Sterek.


End file.
